Neville Longbottom: Through My Own Eyes
by nekoakimatsu
Summary: Year One. Neville Longbottom had been one of the two boys spoken about in Professor Trelawney's prophecy. So what was life like through the eyes of the boy who was overlooked? Canon -- follows events through Neville's perspective. Please review!
1. The Boy Who Was Overlooked

_Disclaimer: I do not own, nor am I affiliated with Warner Bros., J.K. Rowling, or her global success with the Harry Potter series. I make no profit or gain with my writings, and only do it for the enjoyment. _

Chapter 1: The Boy Who Was Overlooked

Neville Longbottom had always been considered disturbingly normal by the rest of his family. He had never displayed any remarkable magical talent or ability growing up, and he was extremely prone to forgetfulness, clumsiness and had a rather shy demeanor.

When most children, in the wizarding world, began showing signs of magical heritage around four or five, Neville simply showed signs of being awkward and somewhat of a pushover. He almost always cried (hurt or not), and on more than one occasion, mice had gotten the better of his courage.

It hadn't been until Neville turned eight, when his Great Uncle Algie had dropped him out of an open third-story window, that Neville had magically bounced himself out of the hedges and continued down the street. Neville's grandmother had sobbed that it was 'the happiest day of her life', and quite truthfully, it had been Neville's as well.

In fact, it was this exact memory that Neville had been dreaming on while the sun rose up outside his window. It was nearly nine o' clock, and a seemingly perfect day as Neville began stirring from his deep and peaceful sleep. He yawned and rubbed his eyes, while listening to the muffled voices of his relatives who were talking candidly down in the kitchen, below his bedroom. Lingering for just a minute more, Neville listened to the birds outside before his old wooden cuckoo clock in the corner of the room chimed loudly, announcing the hour.

Throwing off his rumpled covers, Neville clambered out of his sheets, while slipping on his favorite pair of house slippers, and ambled down the crooked old staircase to breakfast. Upon entering, Neville could hear the crackling and popping of food cooking on an iron skillet, and the aroma of sausages drifted through the air.

"Well there's the birthday boy," Uncle Algie boomed as Neville walked through the door. Standing up, he walked over and wrapped his nephew in a large, crushing hug and didn't let go until Neville had started laughing.

"Thanks Uncle Algie," Neville managed to say when he caught his breath.

"Your grandmother has whipped up quite the special treat for you," Uncle Algie said, his blue eyes twinkling beneath his bushy, grey eyebrows. "I mean, it isn't every day that you turn eleven, now do you?"

Neville noticed the small stack of birthday presents, wrapped in blue wrapping paper, sitting on the banquet table, next to a giant chocolate cake.

"They're all for me?" Neville exclaimed, a smile spreading across his round face.

"All yours--"

"--but not until you finish your breakfast," his grandmother interrupted, as she set down a large plate of scrambled eggs. "Neville." (Her voice was strict.) "I want you to wash your hands _before_ you start eating."

Neville pulled his hand back from a stack of buttered toast, and slid it next to his side, smiling guiltily up at her. His grandmother wore a stern look, and arched one of her dark, penciled eyebrows. She was a rather formidable looking woman who had had grey hair for as long as Neville could remember, and long nose that thinned when she got angry.

Deciding it was better not to push her, Neville shuffled off towards the kitchen sink, rolling his pajama sleeves up as he did so.

Suddenly there was a loud crack as Neville's Great Aunt Enid entered the spacious entryway just outside the kitchen.

"I think your gnomes are back, Augusta," she said, walking in while brushing herself off. "One nearly tried to bite my ankles as I came up the walkway. Thought it best to just apparate … Neville!" she exclaimed as she caught sight of her great nephew across the room, and opened her arms to receive a large hug.

"Hi Auntie Enid," Neville said, walking towards her.

Aunt Enid wore her grey hair in tight curls and always seemed to favor brightly colored robes, and preferably one's that caught attention (today's were a particularly striking shade of magenta). She always smelled of calamine lotion and soap, as though she had just finished her washing, and today was no exception as Neville breathed her in while hugging her tightly.

"Come and eat Neville," Uncle Algie called, pulling out a chair as he did. Neville scrambled over next to his uncle and promptly sat down, eyeing the table with its mounds of food.

"For Merlin's sake, Augusta," Algie sighed, as he gave his sister a scrutinizing look, "the boy is hungry. Come and sit down, _enjoy _yourself, and stop worrying about your damn gnomes right now. We have a birthday to attend to."

Augusta moved from the window, and shook her head, muttering under breath as she did. ("I just de-gnomed two days ago …")

Once they had all settled in, the four of them began eating and laughing, as Uncle Algie told them stories from his school days, (particularly of when he played as a beater for the Gryffindor Quidditch team). His stories were all accompanied by large gestures and humorous facial expressions, which made Neville laugh so hard that his sides were sore with laughter, and caused him to slip off his chair twice.

When they finally had had their fill of clotted cream, biscuits and eggs, they moved into the sitting room and situated themselves onto the large chairs and sofa, gathering around Neville and his gifts.

"Go ahead Neville," his grandmother said, setting her teapot down inside a knitted cozy, while flicking her wand and making three cups appear from nowhere.

Choosing carefully, Neville picked the smallest gift from the stack and shook it vigorously, trying to guess what was inside.

"It's a Screaming Yo-yo," Uncle Algie explained as Neville pulled off the wrapping and looked at the box. "I had one just like it when I was your age."

Gran tutted as she magically stirred her tea with her finger.

"Something you'd like to say, Augusta?"

"Only that those things were a nuisance then, and they're a nuisance now."

"I'll play with it outside Gran, honest," Neville interjected quickly, not wanting his new toy to be an issue of debate. "Thanks Uncle Algie," he added, before he could be reprimanded for manners.

He smiled as he set down the box and opened the next gift, which turned out to be a new pair of socks his aunt had made him. ("Now there's something practical," his grandmother had stated, unapologetically.)

As Neville went through each present he steadily received a pair of new trainers, a couple of galleons, a packet of ice mice and hiccough sweets, as well as a new jacket. It was then that Neville noticed a thick letter in yellow parchment addressed to him in emerald green ink lying underneath the last box he had opened. He pulled it out and drew it towards him, his mouth gaping slightly as he looked around at his family, all of whom seemed to be beaming.

"Is this--?" he began, but fell silent as he stared at the letter.

"Go on Neville," his grandmother replied, nodding her head. "It arrived for you this morning, right before you woke up."

Neville turned over the letter and saw that it had been stamped with a wax seal, emblazoned with a large letter H, and a coat of arms. Ripping the envelope open carefully, Neville pulled out the letter that had been folded on top of itself three times, and read it aloud :

Dear Mr. Longbottom,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

_Deputy Headmistress_

When he had finished, he paused and looked around at his family once more. His grandmother was blowing her nose into a tea-cozy, and looked at him with watery brown eyes.

Neville was speechless. For so long he had imagined that his magical heritage was a fluke, and extremely limited. He never imagined himself actually being accepted to learn and perform magic, let alone at Hogwarts.

As he scanned over the letter once again, he felt his grandmother slide next to him on the sofa, and he looked at her, disbelief still written across his round, freckled face.

"Neville," she said, her voice unusually soft. "I know it says that you're required to buy yourself a wand--"

Excitement flooded through every vein in Neville's body and he opened his mouth to exclaim that they should go to Ollivander's that very afternoon.

"--but I already have one for you."

He quickly shut it.

"You … you already bought me a wand?" He asked, slightly confused.

His grandmother shook her head as she pulled a long, plum-colored box from the sleeve of her robe and held it out for him to grab, (off in the corner he heard his Aunt Enid stifle a sob). Neville had never seen this box before, and he noticed that the lettering, now faded, had once spelled out _Ollivander's _in silver cursive.

Taking the box from his grandmother's hand, Neville lightly set it down on his lap and pulled off the top to reveal a long and rather worn wand, delicately placed on top of suede.

"It was your father's … I think he would have wanted you to have it."

Neville looked from his grandmother and then to the wand, his brown eyes large and tentative. The wand was red in color, and narrow from the delicately crafted handle to tip. It showed signs of being used roughly, as everything from smudges to scratches adorned it, and Neville could distinctly tell where his father had placed his hand when he had used it.

Neville's heart began to pound with pride, and the wand instantaneously became his most prized possession.

"Gran?" he asked rather apprehensively. "Do … do you think we could go and see them? Mum and dad, I mean? I want to show them my letter … and to tell them it's my birthday."

He heard Aunt Enid stifle another cry as she quickly busied herself with washing dishes by hand, trying to pretend to stare out the window.

"Of course, Neville," Gran replied simply. "If that's what you want to go do on your birthday."

"That's what I want to go do," he stated.

"Then you'd better get changed -- and don't forget your presents!" she said, calling after him as Neville ran out and then back into the room, grabbing his things, only to rush back out.

Neville felt elated as he ran up the stairs into his bedroom, dropping his items onto a large wooden dresser, before pulling his clothes out of the drawers. As he tugged on the pant legs of his jeans, Neville Longbottom didn't quite feel like a normal eleven year old, and that was because now he was quite certain he wasn't.


	2. The Parents Who Weren't Really There

Chapter 2: The Parents Who Weren't Really There

Before long, Neville found himself next to his grandmother and Uncle Algie back in the dining room, standing before their large wooden mantle. Preparing for their trip into London had taken longer than Neville would have liked, but he didn't complain. As he stood there, his stomach gave a slight somersault as he felt his father's wand shift in his pocket, and he gripped onto his Hogwarts letter tightly making the parchment wrinkle at the edges.

He hoped that when he told his parents the news of his acceptance, there would be some shred of happiness and recognition in their faces.

"Now remember Algie," Gran spoke, jarring Neville from his thoughts, as she slipped on her long, dragon leather gloves. "You're to meet Neville and I at Flourish and Blott's by two thirty. We'll pick up Neville's school books today, as well as his apothecary things. You've got his list, so be sure not to lose it."

Uncle Algie nodded his head in an agitated sort of way, "Stop fussing Augusta. I'm seventy-two years old, I think I can manage." He turned towards Neville before making a strict mock face of his sister, as she picked up her handbag.

Neville snorted into his hand so that his grandmother couldn't hear him.

"Grab some powder, Neville," she said, completely oblivious to her brother's besmirching, as she threw her red bag over her shoulder, and adjusted her large, moth-bitten hat. (Completed only by a large, vicious looking, stuffed vulture.)

Neville stepped towards the fireplace before grabbing a bulky brass powder box off of the mantle, and pinched at the silver concoction inside for several minutes before having enough for a small handful.

He didn't particularly like traveling by Floo powder, seeing as he usually missed his destination by a mile or ended up getting lost, but his grandmother absolutely refused to apparate with him ever since he had vomited on her shoes.

Pushing back thoughts of ending up in Manchester again, Neville threw the powder into the flames turning them a deep emerald green, and stepped up and over, into the grate.

"Clear voice, dear," his grandmother reminded him, before he could open his mouth.

Nodding his head, and choking back his dreaded thoughts, Neville gathered his courage and squeaked, "Saint Mungo's!"

Instantly, Neville felt as though he was being sucked through a very long drain, and he watched as his living room and family spiraled out of sight. Fighting the sudden onset of nausea, he closed his eyes and prayed that he'd come out where people spoke English.

Almost as fast as he had started spinning, he came to a complete stop. Neville opened one eye and peered out of a rather dusty and disintegrated fireplace. He looked around and found that he was standing in a condemned building, formally known as Purge and Dowse, Ltd. The windows were all boarded up, save for one, and the ceiling had begun caving in on top of itself, leaving large holes ideal for plant life to begin growing.

Upon hearing a loud crack, Neville turned and looked toward the large double doors on the other side of the room and saw his grandmother walking towards him.

"I was afraid you'd missed it," she said firmly, pulling him by his arm, up and out of the ashes while helping to brush him off. "You took longer than you should have. Had me worried out of my mind."

"Sorry Gran," Neville muttered, as she wiped the dirt off of his face.

"Well, so much for you looking presentable. Come on."

As he and his grandmother walked through the old building they came to a stop in front of an old and oddly skewed fashion dummy, whose clothes were at least ten years out of date.

"Mrs. Longbottom. Here to see Mr. and Mrs. Frank Longbottom."

The dummy nodded, before revealing an open arched way. Following his grandmother through, Neville watched as London dissolved behind them as they entered through two large emerald doors , _St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, _inscribed above them.

Now standing in an empty waiting ward, Neville stood back, and fumbled with a button on his shirt as his grandmother went to the front desk to announce their visit properly. Neville had been here many times before, and the familiar scent of lemon and sterilizer filtered through his notrils as he glanced around, taking in the usual sights of the hospital.

There were brown waiting chairs, and a Healer's station situated towards the back of waiting area. He could see only one other person on the floor, a wizard, who was wrapped head-to-toe in bandages through an open doorway. He gave Neville an encouraging wave of his hand from a raised, and rather uncomfortable looking position, in his bedroom, before cringing in pain at the movement.

"Neville, come along," Gran said, before grabbing onto his elbow and whisking him away down one of the three corridors.

The hallway was long with white walls and bright florescent crystal orbs that bounced off the waxed floors. Neville clutched onto his letter harder than ever as they rounded the corner and entered the stairwell, stomping up as they ascended (though Neville tried hard not to).

When they reached the fourth floor where his parents were located, he felt his grandmother put a hand on his shoulder before leaning down and talking quietly in his ear.

"I'm going to go and grab something from the gift shop," she told him, "to brighten up your parent's ..." she paused while considering her words, " … _area_. How about you go and I'll meet you there soon."

Neville nodded his head and walked toward a large oak door with a window at the top, and the words JANUS THICKEY WARD --- LONG TERM RESIDENCE written on it in bolded lettering.

Walking into the separate division , Neville quietly shut the door behind him and gulped at the bulge caught in his throat. Helen, the resident Healer, turned and smiled at Neville, before going back and attending to a young boy, no older than himself.

"They're doing well today," she said, not looking at him, as Neville took a step forward. "You're mother keeps muttering something about a baby."

"It's my birthday today," Neville explained, his voice sounding more woe begotten than he had expected it to.

Helen nodded her head, before bustling off to gather some medicinal items from a cupboard.

Looking forward, toward the far end of the corridor, Neville saw in two beds right next to each other, his parents, Frank and Alice Longbottom.

His father was staring unconsciously out the window, raising his eyebrows every now and then when something caught his eye, while his mother sat fingering through an old picture book that used to be Neville's.

He walked up to them quietly, biting his lip as he took a seat on the end of his mother's bed. "Hey Mum. Hey Dad," his voice quiet and soft, as he looked down at his note.

His father laughed before repeating, "hey" back to Neville at least a dozen times. His hair was whiter than Neville remembered, but he still looked younger than his actual age, (a quality Gran had said that went back to his school years). He rocked back and forth, mumbling here and there, often saying things like 'never tell' or 'leaver her be' over and over, though once Neville swore he had heard him say his name.

Feeling someone slide in next to him, Neville turned and found that his mother, Alice, had crawled over holding out her book, while smiling and looking hopefully up at him. Her hair was white too, though wispier and more dead looking than her husband's. Her once round face had thinned considerably, and she no longer looked like her old cheerful self that Neville had seen in Gran's pictures.

Both his mother and father had been tortured into insanity ten years prior, by use of the cruciatus curse, at the hands of a mad woman named Bellatrix Lestrange. Neville had only been a year old at the time and he often felt cheated that he hadn't the chance to get to know them before the incident.

"Mum," he whispered, leaning in closer to her, a bright smile spreading across his round face. "You'll never believe what happened to me today. I got accepted into Hogwarts. _Me._"

Alice hummed a tune, as she pressed the picture book into his hand, trying to get him to read it.

"Do you remember going to Hogwarts mum? Do you remember how excited you were? I wish you could tell me all about your first year … I'm nervous about starting mine."

His mother simply stared at him, her large blue eyes empty of worries or thoughts. She pointed to the moving pictures, then pointed to herself.

"I know you're trying to tell me something," Neville said, watching her react as he flipped through a couple of pages, her enthusiasm becoming louder and louder with each turn.

"You should know better than to excite your mother Neville," Gran's voice cut in, her heeled shoes clipping down the corridor floor. "Merlin knows how long it'll take to calm her."

Neville's face dropped as he shut the book quietly, watching his grandmother set a large vase of pink hydrangeas down on the dresser drawer that was between the two beds, bushing and primping at the flowers as she did.

"There. That should give this stuffy corner some color, don't you think?" Gran said before turning, her face hardening instantly as she did. "Neville, put that book down. It's practically falling apart, why, just look at the edges."

"Mum wanted me to read it to her," he protested, "she was trying to show me something."

His grandmother shook her head. "I seriously doubt that, dear."

She walked over to her son, and fluffed the pillows behind his head. "Has your father said anything interesting today?"

"No," Neville said in a sulking manner as he placed his mother's book back down on the bed.

Gran tutted as she fussed with straightening out and slicking down his father's covers. Neville often found himself wishing that his grandmother would acknowledge his parents as if they were still sane, rather than pretending that they couldn't hear her at all. He always felt awkward talking to them whenever his she was present, and she frequently made comments that made him feel silly and childish for trying. She didn't believe in wishful thinking, for she simply saw the facts in black and white.

Neville, on the other hand, chose to believe and see the grey. It was a trait Neville had acquired from his father according to Uncle Algie, but he regularly wondered if he believed him. (His uncle had a habit for telling fibs.)

"Well," Gran said, pulling her green leather gloves back out of her bag. "Neville, are you finished?"

Neville nodded his head, not knowing what else to say, and stood up, turning to look at his parents before they left.

"Say goodbye Neville."

"Bye …" he muttered gloomily, as they walked back toward the inscribed door.

Upon passing Neville smiled at the small boy whom he had seen before, who looked gloomier (if possible) than even him.

All the way back down to the first floor, Neville thumbed at the edges of his letter, taking care not to crease it. He wanted to tell Gran about his mother mentioning a baby today, but decided that it was better left a secret (not that she would have been excited anyway), and fell instead into complete silence as he trolled along.

Once they were back out on the streets of London, with St. Mungo's vanishing back into Purges and Dowse Ltd, Neville's grandmother quickly issued him across the road and led for several very quiet minutes before reaching a small wizarding store with a connection to the Floo Network.

For one knut, he bought himself enough powder to take him into Flourish and Blotts, and stepped into the grubby fireplace repeating what he had done before.

As he spun out of the heart of London and into the giant bookshop, Neville could see his Uncle Algie waiting for him across the way, three large books in hand and a wide smile that told Neville immediately that his Uncle was up to something.


End file.
